Ah, yes. In keeping with my new year's resolution (and yes, I know I said my resolution was not to make any resolutions, but the flesh is weak, all right? Stop judging me!) - er, where was I?
New year's resolution. Yes. 2007. To put up some original writing on this blog. To silence the ICoD because that bastard thinks he owns me. So I'm going to do this Sunday Scribblings thing. Simple enough, a weekly prompt and I write anything I feel like.
This week's prompt is "Chronicles". And what with all that talk of poetry yesterday, I think I feel a kyrielle coming on.
Secret confession: I am a rhyme-and-metre whore. I blush, I hide my face away - oh, the embarrassment! I'm officially in dhobi-ka-kutta territory now: normal people consider poetry nerdy, and poets consider rhyme incredibly uncool, so 1700s.
But here I am, stepping unforgiveably deeper into the world of blase by writing a kyrielle, a poem that not only rhymes, but has a refrain at the end of every stanza. I've been fascinated with this form ever since Fernwithy did this kyrielle for the R/T challenge month last year. Fascinating. Almost hypnotic. Sometimes I think religion would suit my temperament.
Ugh, atheist blasphemy. Enough pontification! On to the poem!
Chronicles of the Modern Artist
The morning sun's too bright for all
The hours that will drip away unlit
By thought or word or deed today:
This thought will be the death of her.
Yesterday's canvas for which she stole
Colour from skin and shape from body
Lies stained by words that spread like sin:
These words will be the death of her.
High noon arrives in fits and starts
Of office crowds to be waited on
Through lunch. And then some busy-work.
This work will be the death of her.
Through slanted rays of cleansing water
And the numbness TV gives as alms,
Through all her shields his kiss still lingers:
This kiss will be the death of her.
In sleep she paints bursts of flames
Dancing with the spirits of the gods.
They're dreams, she knows, but in them she lives:
These dreams will be the death of her.
*runs and hides*
I don't know if opinions matter when it comes to one's work, but for what it's worth, I like the poem.
ReplyDeleteMy favorite part -
Yesterday's canvas ...
These words will be the death of her.
-mockingbird
thanks. :) though I haven no idea how to handle reactions to my work, this one's a no-brainer: positive reaction = oh goody goody goody!
ReplyDeleteHats off to you.
ReplyDeleteStructured poems and rhymes etc etc are out of fashion? well, so what. I think they're out of fashion 'cos most of us would struggle like hell to create a structured rhyming piece.
Well, I know I can't...which is one of the reasons I don't call myself a poet. The same as I would call a painter an artist until they'd done competant fine art, not just jumped straight into chucking fish heads and mud at a canvas and calling it art...
So ignore that inner voice, and keep creating, it might not be Keats, but it's competant.
very nice. I esp. like "hours that drip away."
ReplyDeleteRhyming poetry is harder than free verse, so people who say rhyming is uncool are just lazy... - saurabh
ReplyDeleteI agree with everyone else that this is good work. I enjoyed the structure and the refrain, too.
ReplyDeleteLike you my first poetry post was done in fear. Fortunately people are very nice. I guess if they don't like it the don't comment.
After the funny beginning I had to continue and read the poem too, and I'm glad I did. Don't run, stretch up girl!
ReplyDelete